The Role of Nature in My Life

Some of the earliest memories of my life are ones where I am completely immersed in nature. Whether I was turning over decaying logs to uncover hidden centipedes, hand crafting mud pies with my sister, or collecting clay in the nearby streams with my neighbour, I was constantly surrounded by the elements. Most people of my generation can probably relate to these experiences. My childhood however, most likely differed from that of my classmates in that I grew up on a First Nations reservation.

The role of nature in my life is therefore difficult for me to summarize in a single word or sentence. It is more than just the occasional rejuvenating weekend of camping, as is for many city folks. Instead, it brings me a sense of peace and tranquility when my mind is weighed down by the burden of academic or personal stress. It makes me feel connected to my ancestors, knowing that I am surrounded by the same trees that they once planted, or that I am walking on the same field that they once tread. It makes me feel wholesome and healthy when I feed by body and soul with strawberry juice and the Three Sisters; corn, beans, and squash. It makes me feel calm when I am barefoot in the soil of my backyard garden, harvesting sweetgrass to dry out and braid later on in the season. It makes me feel alive to stand outside in the pouring rain and to breathe in the fresh air after being cooped up in the house all day. It makes me feel clean when I open up the windows of my room to let in the crisp air of the outside. It makes me feel like time has stopped when I am sitting in a mound of snow and listening to the silence of the season. Reservations in Canada get a bad reputation for being dangerous, dirty, and unkept. For us locals however, there is nothing more comforting than coming back home from a long day in the city to the sight of white pine and the familiar scents of a fire, cedar, sage, and tobacco.

As I write this piece, I am reminded of my youth spent at the local elementary school. Before any of our classes commenced, we would gather every morning in The Circle Room. There we would say aloud in unison, the “Ohén:ton Karihwatéhkwen  Atenonhweratónhtshera” in our traditional language. It begins with us thanking the Creator, Father Sky, and Mother Earth for providing us with everything we need to survive. Each subsequent verse gives thanks to a specific component of nature which has sustained our people for generations. With the aid of visual cues, we would express our gratitude for the waters, medicinal plants, insects, animal life, rain, and everything in between. These teachings of respect towards life in all forms made me very conscious of my impact on the environment from a very young age.

Once I turned eight years old, my siblings and I began attending school off reserve. As grateful as I am for acquiring a better French and scientific education as a result of the transfer, I cannot help but feel disadvantaged. The time I spent away from my land and culture left me with a loss of identity as an Indigenous person. Without the frequent practicing, I completely lost my ability to recite the thanksgiving address, or better yet, speak the language at all. The knowledge I gained with a Western education, as enriching and practical as it was, was knowledge I lost of who I was as a Haudenosaunee being.

 What worries me the most about the future is when I attend University; an institution that is very far and very different from home. For many people, leaving home to pursue one’s education or career is simply a coming-of-age moment. For many First Nations people however, leaving home is an emotionally tolling experience for a multitude of reasons. When you leave your reservation, you’re leaving your longhouse, your people, and your land; things you have been surrounded by your whole life in close proximity. As with many other Indigenous cultures, our entire worldview is based off our kinship with nature and recognizing that we share this land with all kinds of living organisms. In my experience, Western knowledge and academic institutions tend to overlook this perspective. My people have been stewards of this land for a long time before the colonizers arrived. I think it is time people start realizing the value of our knowledge; we are worthy of more than a mere portion of a chapter in Canada’s history.